Page 84 of Sin

“I’ve been better,” she said honestly, holding my gaze. “Days like these make it a little easier, though. I’ve missed having my family together.”

I flinched, and she noticed. She hummed to herself as she continued to stare at me, thinking about something hard, it seemed. “I had a nice chat with London tonight,” she said after a moment. “He’s been awfully busy as of late. Too busy, even to give me a call back anymore.” She sighed wearily, glancing at the back door. “It’s been like pulling teeth just to get him to text me back these days. I was pretty surprised when he said he wanted to talk.” She blinked over at me and smiled warmly. “I believe I have you to thank for that.”

I shifted uncomfortably under her praise. I didn’t deserve it. “I didn’t do anything.”

“There you go with lies again,” she said, her tone both playful and reproachful. “Thank you.”

I didn’t respond, because what did she want me to say? You’re welcome for convincing your son to talk to you after my dad had your husband killed?

Sarah seemed content to fill the silence, her voice soothing and light. “I heard you’re being offered a pardon. That’s great news. I always thought your sentence was too severe. It nearly broke London when you were arrested, and he really hasn’t been the same since. I do hope you two will be able to work things out. You always brought out the best in him.”

“Don’t,” I said, my voice hoarse and shaky. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

She looked confused. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Leaning forward to place my elbows on my knees, I let my face fall into my palms. “You don’t have to pretend to be nice to me, Sarah. I know what I cost you. What I cost your family. If it weren’t for me, Mack—” I choked on his name and cleared my throat before I continued. Still, tears stung the corners of my eyes, and I pressed my palms to them in an attempt to keep them at bay. “I don’t deserve your kindness.”

Warm arms were suddenly around me, pulling me against a warm body. Sarah smelled familiar, like lavender and honey. And despite every reason I shouldn’t, I found myself clinging to her.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, holding her even tighter. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

She trembled in my arms as a sob caught in her throat. “It’s okay.”

“But it’s not.” I let go of her, looking at the ground. “He’s gone because of me.”

“Oh, honey.” Soft fingers tilted my head up until I looked into her sad eyes. “Is that what you think?”

“It’s true, isn’t it?”

Cupping my face with both her hands, she pressed her forehead against mine. Her eyes closed, but a single tear trickled down her cheek. “No, Sin. It’s not. There was a lot of loss that day, but not a death was by your hand. You can’t hold yourself accountable for other people’s actions.”

Hadn’t Mare said something similar?

When I didn’t respond, Sarah grabbed my hand and squeezed. She felt so fragile. “We all lost someone that day. I lost Mack, yes. But you also lost your father, Sin. We’re not the only ones grieving a loss.”

“He was a horrible person,” I argued.

“True, but he was still your dad. You cared about him, and because of the horrific things he did, you haven’t allowed yourself to grieve him. But that’s not how grief works. Whether you believe his death to be a good thing or not, you still lost a part of yourself that day. So please, when you’re ready, give yourself time to grieve. For your dad, your mom, the boy you were. Grieve for them all. It will only weigh you down if you don’t. You won’t be able to heal until you do.”

“I don’t know how to start,” I admitted in a small voice.

Her hand gripped mine just a little harder. “You just have to take the first step, then the rest will follow.”

I didn’t understand what she meant, and she didn’t elaborate as she kissed my cheek. Standing, she smiled sadly. “I think we’ve been gone long enough. Let’s get back to the party, yeah?”

“I’ll join you in a minute. I just need…”

She nodded like she understood. Then she pulled something from her pocket and handed it to me. It was a napkin wrapped cookie.

My fingers trembled.

“It’s your mom’s recipe.”

“I—” My voice cracked, and I took a shaky breath while I tried to calm myself down. “They’re hers?”

Sarah nodded again. “Yes. They’re the only ones I make anymore.”

My throat burned, and my eyes stung. “Thank you,” I managed to whisper, my voice wrecked. Because we both knew this was more than a cookie. It was a step toward healing.

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